Routine
by Summer Memory
Summary: Shizuo wonders if he's becoming soft over the years, because when the flea knocks on his door, all bleeding and bruising, regardless of what time it is, he always let Izaya in. Slight Shizaya. Rated T for swearing.


Hello, this is my first story in Drrrr! fandom. I wrote this over a year ago, I think it won't do any good only to sit abandoned in my laptop so I decided to publish it.

I hope that you like it! :)

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The sound of glass shattered soon followed by a string of dirty words was what broke the silence in Shizuo's apartment. The blond was cussing furiously, that'd be better not Kasuka's and his photo frame that he'd just blindly slapped his hand at; and if it turned out to be it, he promised a slow, painful, merciless death for whoever God-forsaken being that dared to knock at his door at fucking _two_ in the middle of the night.

The knocks were getting louder, and it seemed that the other person behind the door had his patience wearing thin.

Desperately resisting the urge to yell and break something to make the other person shut up, he managed to reach the doorknob, wrist almost turning to open it –

-and stopped dead in his track as his sleep-deprived mind was slowly piecing the puzzles together.

Not a single being in Ikebukuro who wanted their limbs still attached to their body ever had the guts to wake him from slumber at this late of hour, and the fact alone was enough to bring him to realization.

He might have a good idea who the person behind his door was.

As if on cue, the knocks paused for a moment, then came a muffled voice. "I know you're there, Shizu-chan."

Oh, right, perhaps that damn flea had developed an antenna to always be able to radar his presence every single time.

"I'm not letting you in," was Shizuo curt reply, "go away."

There was silence followed, and Shizuo grounded his teeth as his hand hovered over the door knob. It'd been always like this, and he knew that it was only a matter of time before he finally gave up and opened the door. Just like those previous times.

Because no matter how many times it had happened, Shizuo always let Izaya in.

The prolonged silence began to bother him, although he doubted if the informant had left already because Orihara Izaya wasn't so easy to shake off, hence his so-called 'flea'. He finally sighed and opened the door, telling himself that he really shouldn't be doing this and that he'd only regret it later.

The door opened with a soft click and Shizuo widened his eyes a fraction as Izaya, who'd put his whole weight by solely leaning on the door, fell and he barely managed to grab the brunet by the arm before he could kiss the cold tiled floor.

Izaya was barely conscious and Shizuo switched his gaze from the deathly-pale male in his hold to the glaring crimson staining on his door where Izaya'd been previously leaning on. It'd be a pain to scrub it off later, he noted dully.

A pained whimper escaped Izaya's lips, breaking Shizuo train of thoughts.

The blond sighed. "What have you done this time, flea?"

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In the morning, Shizuo emerged from his bathroom with a towel to dry his still dripping wet hair, feeling refreshed after taking shower. Throwing on his bartender suit, he casted a glance to a lump on his bed, a mop of ebony hair was visible beneath the mess of pillow and bedcover and his skin was as just pale as the white sheets.

This wasn't the first time he'd let Izaya get to sleep on his bed while he was forced to take the couch, and it would likely not be the last time either.

The ex-bartender sighed, being torn between wanting to mutilate the nuisance or just let him be. He knew he wasn't sympathetic, he was too apathetic to feel those kinds of emotions that weren't related to his parents, Kasuka, or Tom-san. And he didn't feel pity either, because his pride just wouldn't let him and Shizuo had known the informant too well to know that he didn't appreciate such pitiful feeling directed towards him.

But just, what the heck had the brunet been through this time? Knowing the flea, the one and only man in Ikebukuro who'd always managed to escape the beast like him, a clean cut to the stomach had to be something. Damn, this night was a close call, he remembered all the bloody mess at the door of his apartment that was actually the informant, and he wondered how he could still move with the wound and blood loss.

Che, he muttered to himself. Why did he even bother to care? That damned flea was much better off dead in the most inhuman way possible, for all he cared.

Tying his bowtie with one hand, he sat on the edge of his bed. It gave a small creaking noise at the added weight. He eyed the unconscious man warily, his face was flushed red with the developing fever and Shizuo mentally noted to call Shinra later.

It had nothing to do with him, he internally scolded himself, regretting every single time he'd let Izaya into his apartment and patch him up every now and then. He couldn't recall when all of this had started, but he'd been seeing the informant more frequently than his liking and it was never for his to kill. It was always Izaya, with that goddamned smug smirk plastered on his face, with a part or two of his body being sliced or broken or shot, and the pouring and dripping blood was crimson just like his eyes.

And he'd always let the informant in, never asking _why_ or _how_, he just did. There were many times he questioned why it was _him_ Izaya kept on coming back to, or even his own decision to let Izaya in and patch him up, but he kept telling himself that it was none of his business. He wasn't a particular morally person but he just couldn't let somebody bleed to death in the _front_ of his apartment door, after all.

Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered to do this at all, given that they had been nemesis for more than thirteen years. They still were, though, at least he liked to think that way, because he didn't know what to make of Izaya other way than that. But he had to admit that, the dynamics between them had slightly changed. For the better or worse, he honestly didn't know.

He reached out a hand towards the sleeping figure, but quickly refrained himself from touching the raven-haired male. He told himself, just like the previous times, over and over and over again, that indeed it was none of his business.

With that determination, he went back on his feet—

-only to be stopped by a burning hot hand grabbing his wrist. His decision, as well as his world, _again_, crumbled apart.

"..Shizu-chan's leaving already?"

Shizuo told himself that probably it was only the fever, but there was something painful about the way the question left Izaya's lips. Something like insecurity, like sadness, like loneliness.

"Yeah, I have work to do." He gave a gruff answer in response, still not tearing his hand back and he just stood there like a fool. He wished he could act rougher and snappier like he'd used to be when the damn flea was around some years ago, but he couldn't bring himself to do so. He wondered just how much he'd gone soft over the years. Perhaps it was that they were getting tired from all of this mess, and when people are getting older, they tend to seek a quiet, quieter life.

"Oh... okay. "

The single syllable left the room in silence as Izaya let go of his hand. It hung limply on Shizuo'ss side and he tried _hard_ not to think that it was resentment that he'd heard on that information broker voice, not to think how he wished he could let out a snarky comment in return, not to think that there was an empty pang to his chest, and certainly not to think how he wished that Izaya wouldn't let go of his hand _that_ easily.

"Yeah." he repeated, although mostly for himself, as he slowly made his way for the door.

Izaya would leave later on the day or the next day if he was far too ill, Shizuo knew that. He never stayed for too long and Shizuo knew all too well that the damned flea would never say 'goodbye' or even a 'thank you' to him, not that he ever expected it from that nuisance's mouth. That insect could just die and rot in some deserted dark alley, for all he's worth.

"Hey, flea." he said, stopping right before closing the door, still not turning his back, "if you keep doing this, you'll die one day or another."

"Aah~," Izaya's voice perked up slightly and he summoned his strength left to quirk an eyebrow, not that the bartender could see it, though; "is Shizu-chan actually worried about me? Does that mean you _do_ care about me after all? I'm so flattered!"

"Shut it, flea. I don't." Shizuo growled and he could easily imagine that damn smug smirk crawling at the informant lips, crimson eyes glinting at something that he knew and Shizuo _didn't_. That pissed him off beyond comprehension.

"And you know I'll _never_ do." He muttered again and steeled himself before slamming the door shut, never once looking back.

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Thank you for reading.

And if you have some time to spare, please kindly tell me what you think about this story, thank you a bunch! :D :D


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